


Fatalistic Fortune

by livx18 (Barnesstony)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Manipulation, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barnesstony/pseuds/livx18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A smooth accented voice, definitely European Will notes, answers with a crisp but polite, “This is Hannibal Lecter. To whom am I speaking?” Will takes a breath and opens his mouth to respond, but instead hangs up. He feels embarrassed and uncomfortable and is about to put his cell back in his pocket when it rings. The ringing sounds deafening in the silence of his house and he lets out a sigh. He doesn’t need to look at the caller ID to know that it’s Hannibal Lecter. With a gulp and a shaky voice he answers, “Hello?”</p><p>Or, Alternatively:</p><p>The story of how Will Graham comes to know Hannibal Lecter through a strange chain of events that could be described as fate. Too bad Will Graham doesn't support the notion of fatalism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just wouldn't go away and so I jotted it down. But somehow it's now turned into an actual fanfiction and ugh. I didn't mean for this to happen. It just did. 
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy. Title comes from the song "What If" by Emilie Autumn.

The book feels heavy in his hands; weighted with old (mostly outdated) medical facts and other windows to the past. Will opens it to a random page, lifts the book to his face and inhales. He read once that old books retained odors of their environments and he can’t help but envision that this book reeked of dirt and old coffee. He turns to another page and is met with an image he recognizes from his college years: the Wound Man. He scoffs at the vintage drawing, finding something amusing about the old letterings surrounding it. He flips to the end and frowns as a slip of paper falls out. Without a second thought Will picks it up and shoves it into his coat pocket. He closes the book and turns it over to look at the cover. _Fasiculo de Medicina_. With a shrug he places it back on the shelf and makes a mental note of it.

He doesn’t think about the slip of paper once, forgetting it even existed, until he goes to hang up his coat when he gets home. Will looks at it, sees a name, address, and phone number written down in sloppy handwriting:

Lecter  
687 Bayshore Ave.  
Suite 200  
Baltimore  
443-555-0159

He frowns again, recognizing it as a business number of some kind. Something in him makes him keep the slip regardless and he ends up placing it on his kitchen counter for the time being.

* * *

Will stares at the sight before him, already feeling the killer’s thoughts poking at his brain. The skin from the back has been removed and sewn to the front in a way that represents sleeves and skirt folds. There are carvings to the torso, no doubt meant to resemble details, embroidery. Every detail is precise and exact and Will knows that the killer “dressed” this victim in a piece that would bring out their beauty, enhance their figure.

“This one is different than the last,” Crawford says as he moves to stand beside Will.

“Yeah, same killer though.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Same steps taken to completing their work, just a different end product,” Will states as he takes a step to his left, uncomfortable with the alpha’s proximity. He walks forward, approaching the victim, and takes in the stitching, the careful execution the killer took in this.

“We’re looking for someone with a love for fashion. Maybe someone who is disgruntled by those who claim fashion isn’t an art form…This person is proud of the pieces created by famous designers, by the details within each article. They are obsessed and do not take kindly to others insulting the one thing they are so passionate about,” Will says, his voice low as he closes his eyes.

The victim, 36 year old beta Vanessa Brudger, was an art critique. She was known for knocking down various forms of art as well as specific pieces. None of her critiques, however, mention anything about fashion. Will ignores this oddity for a moment and instead runs a shaky hand through his unruly curls. She still smells strongly of beta and Will wonders how long that scent will linger on her.

“The first victim was an omega,” Jack states, “So we know this killer isn’t strictly after a particular gender.”

“Definitely not a strictly omega or strictly beta hunter,” Will says in a way that almost sounds as if he is attempting a joke. That earns him a few unsure looks but he ignores them. As a male omega, something incredibly rare, he has had his fair share of odd looks.

“Jack,” Will says, causing the alpha to step closer to him again, “This killer is going to be hard to catch. The only clue we have to this person is that they are obsessed with fashion. That’s it.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Jack states almost defensively, “We know it’s a woman.”

“Jack if you say it’s a woman because they are into fashion I may just smack you,” Miriam pipes up from the corner. Miriam, who shouldn’t even be alive all things considered, is a quirky beta. Will finds he rather likes her, she’s a good replacement for Beverly. Though, Will suspects no one will ever be able to completely replace Bev; she was a one of a kind omega. Will wishes that he had the same fire, same strong spirit that Beverly had.

“Jack, I’m gonna need to see that first victim again,” Will says to which Jack simply nods and motions for Will to follow him to his overly large black SUV.

* * *

The drive to Quantico is silent and Will is glad that Jack is a mated alpha otherwise the silence would be uncomfortable and nerve-wracking. Will isn’t one for small talk, for forcing conversations when there is none to be had. And he’s thankful Jack seems to be feeling the same way.

“You sure you’ll be okay with this?” Jack asks as they get out of the vehicle.

“Jack, you already showed me the body once. I just need to see it again.”

“Seeing it the second time is worse, Will. Much worse.”

“It’s the same dead body as it was before, Jack,” Will says as they enter the building, “I don’t think much has changed since seeing it the first time.”

Will realizes very quickly exactly how wrong he is. The room is filled with the scent typically associated with death, but overpowering that is the scent of omega. It smells stale and bitter and Will gags as he inhales another whiff of it. The body looks paler and Will turns away, unable to look at it. It’s far too easy, with the smell in the room and the body spread on the table before him, to imagine himself in the victim’s place. He sees himself cut up, his skin arranged in a way that resembles a well-tailored suit. And that ghastly odor, a mixture of death and ripeness gone to waste, is coming from his lifeless body.

Will fumbles back, a hand pressed against his mouth, as he attempts to blink away the image. He retreats before he even realizes his feet are moving and finds himself leaning against Jack’s SUV, gasping for air. He can still smell it, still taste it. It’s sour and lingering and he just wants it to go away. Jack meets up with him a few moments later and says he’ll take Will home. Will can only nod weakly, shaking slightly.

* * *

He stumbles into his house, ignoring his yipping dogs as he staggers to the kitchen. He debates rather quickly whether coffee would help or make the matter worse. He decides to start brewing some regardless. He takes a seat on the other side of his counter and leans against the hard makeshift marble as he tries to steady himself and will away the image of the omega sprawled out, no light in her eyes.

His gaze flickers up to check the progress of the coffee but end up landing on the crumbled slip of paper he had discarded earlier in the week. With an unsteady hand he grabs it and examines it once more. Before he can think about what he’s doing, he’s grabbing his cell out of his pant pocket and calling the number sloppily scribbled down.

A smooth accented voice, definitely European Will notes, answers with a crisp but polite, “This is Hannibal Lecter. To whom am I speaking?” Will takes a breath and opens his mouth to respond, but instead hangs up. He feels embarrassed and uncomfortable and is about to put his cell back in his pocket when it rings. The ringing sounds deafening in the silence of his house and he lets out a sigh. He doesn’t need to look at the caller ID to know that it’s Hannibal Lecter. With a gulp and a shaky voice he answers, “Hello?”

“Hello. My name is Hannibal Lecter. I believe you just called me,” the accented voice says. The voice sounds steady and feels like an anchor. Will, without thinking, finds himself clinging to it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…” He’s not sure what to say. He didn’t mean to? He didn’t think anyone would answer? Instead he lets the sentence end there, implying that he didn’t call at all with his silence.

“Was there something I could help you with?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” Will isn’t sure exactly what he’s apologizing for. His voice is beginning to sound weak and he feels idiotic for calling the number.

“Are you all right?” Hannibal asks and Will takes in a breath. Was he all right? No. Even with the fresh coffee smell Will still has that dead omega’s scent etched into his nostrils.

“I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” He says again, “I shouldn’t have called.”

“It’s quite all right Mr.?”

“Graham. Will Graham.” Will replies without question. He thinks, as he listens to the man’s voice, that he must be an alpha. He envisions a large man, muscular, pale with light hair. A true alpha.

“Will, is there something I can help you with?” Hannibal asks, keeping the question in the present this time. Will’s voice cracks and before he can stop himself he finds himself admitting that he feels as if he’s breaking. Hannibal is silent, allowing Will to continue.

“My job, I can’t talk to you about it, but today I saw something…and normally I can just shake it off, tune it out. But this,” Will pauses, realizes his voice is tainted with the sound of crying, and then continues, “This is different. And it’s not going away.”

“Describe it to me. Why is it difference?” Hannibal says, his voice calm.

“This one smelt different.”

“And the smell was unappealing?”

“Yes. It was disgusting.”

“Describe it to me.” Will knows he means the smell, but hesitates. A part of him worries that by describing the smell to Hannibal the man will be able to smell it too. It’s ridiculous, but it still bothers Will. After a moment, he responds.

“Bitter, sour, stale. It’s the scent of a wasted omega, one that was newly ripe, mixed with death and earth, and shadow.”

“It sounds horrific and unpleasant.” Will almost laughs at the use of unpleasant because it’s such a boring way to describe the scent, yet so accurate.

“May I ask what this smell came from?” Hannibal asks.

“A body.”

“I can only assume that made the smell worse. To experience that scent alone is a challenge, but to see the body producing that odor is truly brutal.” Hannibal’s voice sounds conversational and Will is thankful for it. It’s not patronizing or judgmental, sounds nothing like a therapist or a person trying to be helpful but failing. It sounds ordinary and even and Will finds himself wanting to revel in it. Though the fact that Hannibal talks about this dead omega like he too had been there to see it unnerves Will.

“Yes.” Will hopes it’s answer enough.

“You said you cannot discuss your job, but I must admit that I am curious as to how your job led you to such a terrible experience.” Of course he’d be curious, Will thinks. Normally Will hates curiosity. It leads to messes that are often times nearly impossible to clean up. It leads to him being observed, studied; to people staring at him wondering what makes him tick. However Hannibal’s curiosity seems different, more genuine.

“I’m in law enforcement,” He manages.

“That would explain how you came across a deceased omega,” Hannibal says, pausing when Winston barks.

“You have a dog?” Hannibal asks. It’s conversational again, small talk, but Will finds it refreshing and needed.

“I have seven actually. All rescues.” The subject of his dogs feels comforting and Will blabs on about them after Hannibal asks about their breeds. Will glances at his clock and sees that somehow two hours have gone by. He immediately feels guilty and falls silent.

“Something wrong, Will?” Hannibal asks.

“I’ve just wasted two hours of your time.”

“I would hardly call having a pleasant conversation a waste of time.”

“But you must’ve had plans or something. God I’m so sorry.” Will apologizes.

“It is perfectly all right. I had no plans for this evening other than returning home followed by cooking and enjoying a well-balanced meal. Talking to you was an unexpected, but in the end most welcome, addition to my night.” Hannibal says with the implication that it is an honest confession, and Will wants desperately to believe it.

“Will, if ever you find yourself in need of assistance again, please come to see me at my office. I would be delighted to talk with you.”

“Thank you. But I don’t see how going to your office would help. Wouldn’t I just be bothering your coworkers?”

“I am a psychiatrist, Will, I do not have coworkers, merely colleagues.”

“I don’t think meeting would be a good idea, _Doctor_.” Will says the word with a hint of venom which he realizes is unfair given that this man has been nothing but courteous to Will. However, Will feels used, manipulated. No wonder he had stayed so calm, he dealt with shit like that for a living.

“I respectfully disagree.”

“How much do I owe you, Doctor for giving me a two hour session as opposed to the typical one?” Will asks.

“Will,” Hannibal sounds like an irritated parent when he says Will’s name like that and Will can’t stand it, “You owe me nothing. I was merely aiding someone who appeared to be rather distraught.”

“Well thank you,” Will says with a sigh, “I’m sorry again for wasting your time. Good night, Dr. Lecter.”

“Good evening, Will.” Will hangs up before Hannibal has the chance to. He runs a hand through his hair and notes that he is calm, relaxed. The coffee is, no doubt, cold by now but Will pours himself a mug regardless. His dogs run over to his side and he pets them all gently as he takes a swig of cold coffee. The caffeine feels refreshing and Will lets out a contented sound as it courses through him.

His gaze focuses on the slip of paper that had led him to call Hannibal Lecter and for a moment he debates tossing it. In the end he leaves it where it is and places his mug down next to it before getting up and turning in for the night. His dogs make themselves comfortable in their respective spots and Will is relieved to find that his sleep, for the first time in ages, is dream free and peaceful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s as he takes another swig of the god awful champagne (and Will really wishes that they had served some whiskey instead) that Will picks up the sound of a voice that is so familiar and yet so incredibly foreign. He moves slowly, following the voice to its origin and is surprised when he sees a man, tall with broad shoulders, talking politely and amiably to an older woman wearing a skin tight red dress that is far too revealing for a person her age. Something within him instantly recognizes the man and he takes in a shaky breath as his mind supplies the name Hannibal Lecter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to everyone who commented on the first chapter. I must admit that I was hesitant to even upload the first chapter due to the fact that I haven’t written anything substantial in some time and I’ve never done anything for the show _Hannibal_. I was certain that, even though I’ve read the books and seen the movies and follow the show religiously, I did not have a strong enough grasp of the characters to be able to do them justice in a story. I was honestly surprised by all the positive feedback and the desire for more from so many of you. So thank you, truly. You’ve inspired me to keep this story going. :)
> 
> On another note, the wonderful [TayoAnn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TayoAnn/pseuds/TayoAnn) left a comment that just made my heart flutter with joy. They mentioned the story summary (which I’ll admit I had no idea what to write for a summary because writing, “Will finds Hannibal’s number in an old medical book” seemed ridiculous in my opinion) but then said, “I also really like your seemingly unoppressive (at least legally), full-bodied A/B/O dynamics.” And I just wanted to say thank you! When I decided that I wanted this to be an A/B/O dynamic story (which I was unsure of at first as I’ve never written an A/B/O story), I wanted to make sure that each character was not treated differently due to their gender. 
> 
> I’ve read my fair share of stories in which Omegas are oppressed or Betas are seen as sort of weak secondary characters whilst Alphas are these super strong over-baring possessive beings with all these special rights. And though I tend to enjoy those stories as a whole, those dynamics sort of bother me. It’s a personal thing but I don’t see how being an Omega, and therefore being prone to heats and such, should effect what you can and can’t do as far as employment and other things. The way I see it, an Omega’s heat is sort of like a woman’s period, it happens biologically and just because they have it doesn’t mean they should be punished or oppressed for it. Same goes for Alphas, I don’t plan on painting them as these “preferred” people in society because I don’t believe that one gender should have more authority than another. I’m keeping everyone as human as possible because it seems ridiculous to me to have a society judge you for who and what you were born as. So thank you [TayoAnn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TayoAnn/pseuds/TayoAnn) for picking up on that!
> 
> Anyways, enough blabbing. Thank you all again and please enjoy the next chapter. :)

Will doesn’t call again and puts the slip of paper out of sight and out of mind. He doesn’t trust Hannibal, though he knows he has no reason to distrust the man either. There’s something about Hannibal that frightens Will, though he can't pinpoint exactly what that something is. Will does his best to forget about the doctor and instead think about the killer he's been trying to find.

The next murder victim is a welcomed distraction. Like the past two victims, this one’s skin had been removed from the back and sewn to the front in ways that resembled clothing. Though, this is the first male victim and an alpha to boot. There’s something different about this one, apart from the gender and sex. Will’s focus is on the stitching; he finds it mangled and unsteady. This is an act of hate, anger. He realizes as he stares at the man that he had been mistaken about the first two. They were acts of love, end products of the killer’s adoration for the women and their desire to see those women become truly beautiful. There was no care put into this. The killer wanted this man dead because he detested the man. The victim was turned into something handsome, but not out of love. This was simply the killer continuing to execute his craft.

“This killer is stronger than I thought,” Zeller says as he and Price move around the room to look for anything else that could be used as a clue, “It takes a lot of skill to take down an alpha.”

“It takes a lot of skill to take down anyone,” Price adds.

“Well it’s comforting to know that he, or she, isn’t solely after females,” Miriam says with a sigh as she squints at the dead alpha. She swallows and Will wonders if she has somehow managed to see a part of herself in him. He notes that she has clenched her left hand into a tight fist and is curious as to whether it’s because she’s angry over the death of another human or if she is using her prosthetic arm as an anchor to the present, to reality.

“Miriam,” he says causing the beta to turn sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” She quips, “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“He always looks like that,” Zeller says. Will has learned to tune Zeller’s comments out and instead keeps his focus on Miriam. She shifts her weight, almost awkwardly, under Will’s stare and decides to turn back to the body. Will lets out a breath and accepts the obvious dismissal.

* * *

With no suspects and no idea where to even begin searching for one; Jack decides to look out of his comfort zone. He has Alana, who originally wanted nothing to do with the case, keep her eyes and ears open for any news on upcoming art shows or exhibits with the hope that the killer will attend.

He doesn’t want to wait long and is more than pleased when Alana comes into his office less than a week later with a flier about an upcoming exhibition at The Walters Art Museum in Baltimore. Alana informs him that the museum is hosting a private party before opening the exhibit to the public in two weeks’ time and Jack thanks her before dismissing her and quickly doing everything within his power to make sure he and his team can attend.

* * *

Will has not donned a suit in nearly thirteen years. He looks at his reflection, unimpressed with what he sees, but shrugs and decides that it will have to do. His appearance is sloppy, but he doesn’t care. He’s not looking to impress anyone and would have rather spent the night with his dogs if he didn’t have to attend. But he knows that Jack needs him there, needs him to keep his eyes open in search of the killer.

Will opts to drive himself to the event; he wants to have is car around in case he needs to make a quick getaway. He pulls on to N. Charles Street, arriving right on time, and manages to blend into the crowd of impeccably dressed art-lovers without a hitch. The room has a high ceiling and pristine white walls. It feels plain and sterile and Will scoffs at it. He catches sight of Jack who gives him a small nod before walking over to Will’s side.

“What exactly am I looking for, Jack?” Will asks.

“Anyone that could be our guy,” Jack answers. That tells Will nothing but Will simply sighs and nods before slipping away to meander through the crowd.

He spends the majority of the evening observing those around him and ignoring the pieces on display, all whilst sipping on a single glass of cheap champagne. Art is a window to the soul, to the inner-workings of the artist. Will knows himself well enough to understand that if he looks he’ll get distracted and lost, and that is not something he can afford. He briefly catches a glimpse of one of the watercolors on display and quickly averts his gaze.

He walks further eventually finding some interest in a fairly tall, but stout, beta with a rather unpleasant nasally voice. He stands still and eaves drop only to hear the man discuss the different painting techniques practiced by the featured artist, Léon Bonvin, and Claude Monet with some poor bystander he has roped into conversation.

“Yes but Léon’s mastery of watercolors is unequaled! No one else has ever managed to capture the world quite as magnificently,” the bystander argues.

“Now now, Léon may have an outstanding grasp on watercolor, but he is most certainly not the most impressive painter in terms of capturing the world. Monet’s techniques produced a far better result. And so did Van Goph’s for that matter.” Will listens with no real interest in the subject. He lets out another sigh, feeling as if this entire evening has been a waste of time and resources. The killer could be out there killing another victim and Will was stuck at some dreadful art exhibit with the sort of people he would normally avoid.

It’s as he takes another swig of the god awful champagne (and Will really wishes that they had served some whiskey instead) that Will picks up the sound of a voice that is so familiar and yet so incredibly foreign. He moves slowly, following the voice to its origin and is surprised when he sees a man, tall with broad shoulders, talking politely and amiably to an older woman wearing a skin tight red dress that is far too revealing for a person her age. Something within him instantly recognizes the man and he takes in a shaky breath as his mind supplies the name _Hannibal Lecter_.

Will wants to turn and run but finds himself stuck in place. He doesn’t want to meet this man, especially after that phone conversation. He tries to will his body to move but can’t. He lets out a breath and looks up at the doctor. His features are sharp and defined, covered by smooth olive skin. His suit is tailored to perfection and fits his lithe but clearly athletic frame masterfully. Will catches a glimpse of maroon eyes, unusual but alluring, and frowns as he feels his heart race. He manages to get his feet moving and he hurries toward the exit.

He tries to swing around the outside, as far away from Hannibal as possible. Luck, however, is not on his side and Will ends up having to walk directly past the doctor in order to leave the exhibit. He gulps and moves forward with determination, not allowing his body time to freeze up again. As he nears Hannibal he picks up the undeniable smell of alpha, though it’s stronger than most of the other alpha pheromones Will has encountered. It makes Will tremble slightly as he gets closer. Their shoulders brush as Will moves and Will is hit with an intense burst of warmth from the other man. He takes in a breath through his nose and instantly regrets it.

Hannibal’s scent can only be described as utterly divine. It’s crisp and polished, like the man himself, but Will can sense more than that. He can smell an underlying musk, something dark and strong. He does his best to take another whiff and comes across an earthy, forest smell (a mix of black alder, quaking aspen, and common ash) and recognizes it as something so fantastically and seductively foreign. Will wants to press his nose to the doctor’s neck and breath it in endlessly. He wants to rub himself in it and make his own body smell as intoxicating. He finds his vision blurry and quickly shakes his head to clear his mind. This is not good, he needs to leave, he thinks, as he makes an effort to continue walking.

He’s caught off guard, however, by a push by another attendee passing by and is knocked off balance, causing him to fall into Hannibal’s side. Will panics as Hannibal’s hands find purchase on his shoulders and steady him. Hannibal helps Will stand once more, the heat from his hands causing Will to shake softly. Will turns his head, glancing at Hannibal over his shoulder, and manages a small thanks before attempting to break out of Hannibal’s grip.

“Have we met before?” Hannibal asks, tightening his hold on the omega.

“No.” Will isn’t willing to risk Hannibal figuring out who he is. Hannibal hums lightly, clearly in disbelief, but allows Will to go. Will can feel Hannibal’s gaze on his back as the exit finally comes into view. He feels a sense of freedom which is instantly replaced with fear as he hears Alana’s voice calling out to him. On instinct he turns to face her and mentally curses himself. He knows Hannibal is still watching and can now smell the alpha’s scent getting closer. Will fears that Hannibal has figured out who he is and quickly turns to leave, ignoring Alana in an attempt to outrun the alpha. He manages to make it to his car before Hannibal can get to him and quickly pulls away from the museum.

* * *

The drive back to Wolf Trap is silent apart from the sound of his racing heart. Will feels embarrassed and angry. He spent the entire night looking for any sign of a killer only to find none and instead ran into the one man he was hoping he’d never meet. Worst was Hannibal’s scent. It had lingered on Will’s senses and Will was certain that it was now branded into his brain. He wishes, briefly, that he could smell it once more but shakes the thought before it has a chance to grow into a true desire, or worse, a need.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and part of him knows instantly that it’s Hannibal. He debates answering but decides against it. As he pulls into his makeshift driveway he checks his phone to see that it was a number he did not recognize and hopes momentarily that it wasn’t Hannibal but rather someone else entirely. He listens to the voicemail they left as he enters his house and leaves the front door open so his dogs can run outside.

“Good evening, Will, this is Hannibal Lecter. I am not sure if you remember me, we spoke a few weeks past.” Will freezes as he’s met with the doctor’s now unmistakable lilt.

“I was calling in hopes of speaking with you again. I wanted to see how you are, whether you managed to block out that unpleasant smell or not. Please feel free to call me back on this number. It is my personal mobile and I usually only offer it to friends; however, I feel you would find it more comforting to talk on a personal line as opposed to my business phone. Enjoy your evening, Will.”

Hannibal’s voice sounds just as calm and welcoming as it did the first time they spoke and a part of Will yearns to call back just to hear more of it. Thoughts of Hannibal’s divine scent fill Will’s thoughts again and Will has a sense of déjà vu as his he hits redial before he can stop himself. His dogs come running in and he closes the front door as Hannibal answers with a courteous and warm, “Good evening, Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that in this A/B/O story relationships have less to do with the gender of a person and more to do with pheromonal bonds. A lot of studies of found that a person's scent actually matters in a relationship. I've read several articles on how a lot of relationships were steady, but ended in separation and part of the reasoning was because they participants of the relationships did not like their partners' scent. So I've decided to incorporate that into the story. 
> 
> FUN FACT: There actually is a museum on N. Charles Street in Baltimore called The Walters Art Museum. From February to May of 2012 the museum featured an exhibition entitled "Near Paris: The Watercolors of Léon Bonvin". Léon's works are lovely, you should all google them.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed the second chapter as much as the first. I'm sorry I didn't have them meet, but I really want it to be a certain point within the story. 
> 
> As before, reviews/critiques are most welcomed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will dreams of a large stag, black as night with large contour feathers (resembling those of a raven) that substitute for tufts of matted fur. Its gaze is steady and unyielding and Will feels weak before it. Will freezes as the stag begins to walk slowly, elegantly, towards him. Will can make out the faint glimmer of fishing line, almost invisible in the darkness, tied perfectly to the stag’s antlers. He ignores the stag for the moment and steps around it, following the line instead. The ground feels strange beneath his feet and Will looks down to see that it’s sandy and light but hidden beneath a density of cup lichen. He looks up again and continues through the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short :(
> 
> I wanted to let you all know now that this story won't always be updated so quickly. Currently my mind is on fire with inspiration and motivation for this story. However, don't be too disappointed when that fire starts to fade and updates start taking longer. I know how I operate :/
> 
> On another note thank you all, once again, for such outstanding positive feedback! I truly appreciate it.
> 
> I will be going away for a few days so I don't know when I'll be able to update again. Until then I hope you enjoy this chapter and for those of you who celebrate Easter, have a Happy Easter!
> 
> Oh real quick! The notes at the end of this chapter are important, so please be sure to read them! Thank you!

“Good evening, Doctor Lecter.” Will replies curtly.

“Did you receive my message?” Hannibal asks, though the answer is obvious.

“Yes,” Will says, “You wanted to know if I had managed to forget the smell of the omega.”

“Not forget it, merely block it.” Will feels uneasy at the distinction.

“Well the answer, regardless, is yes.” Will’s tone is rather crude, but he doesn’t care. He’s not looking to impress Hannibal by any means. In fact, he’d rather distance himself.

“May I inquire as to how you went about forgetting the scent?”

“I replaced it with a new one.”

“Another that seems to be lingering.” It’s not a question and Will has this sneaking suspicion that Hannibal has learned that Will was the one at the exhibition and that he is aware that Will was inhaling his smell as much as possible. He shrugs it off, hoping silently that suspicion is wrong.

“Yes. Stronger than the last though not entirely unpleasant.”

“What _is_ unpleasant about it?”

“I don’t want to remember it, I don’t want to smell it, I don’t want to like it but I do.” It’s as honest a confession as Will is willing to make.

“Describe it to me.” The command is gentle but Will feels himself tremble slightly at the fluctuation in Hannibal’s voice. He feels cornered and wonders if he describes it whether Hannibal will recognize it as his own. He doesn’t believe that you can smell your own pheromones but decides to play it safe just in case.

“It was intense, dark, and powerful. Honestly I don’t think I’ve smelt anything like it before.” Will falls silent after that, not willing to share anymore details.

“You seem rather enamored with this alpha’s scent.” Will’s face turns to one of displeasure at the comment. He knows it’s true, but would rather stay in a state of denial. He is not willing to admit that Hannibal’s odor is intoxicating.

“I have to go,” Will say suddenly.

“Of course. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Will.” Hannibal is ever courteous to the end. Will holds back a groan of irritation as he hangs up without a proper farewell.

* * *

Will dreams of a large stag, black as night with large contour feathers (resembling those of a raven) that substitute for tufts of matted fur. Its gaze is steady and unyielding and Will feels weak before it. Will freezes as the stag begins to walk slowly, elegantly, towards him. Will can make out the faint glimmer of fishing line, almost invisible in the darkness, tied perfectly to the stag’s antlers. He ignores the stag for the moment and steps around it, following the line instead. The ground feels strange beneath his feet and Will looks down to see that it’s sandy and light but hidden beneath a density of cup lichen. He looks up again and continues through the woods.

Past the various trees within the grove (mostly pine with a few spruce, birch, and black alder mixed in), Will sees the silhouette of a man. His arms are moving fluidly with purpose, and Will can see that he is the puppet master, the one controlling where the stag goes. Will stands still for a moment, trying to make out the man’s features, but is distracted by a strange pull. He looks down at his hands and gasps for air as he notices that he too is tied with line, controlled by the puppet master. The puppeteer moves his hands in a dramatic arch that has Will rushing forward. As he nears him Will can smell a scent so familiar and delectable, yet dangerous. When the silhouette reaches out to him, Will screams.

* * *

Hannibal watches Alana with little interest as she finishes the last sip of her beer. His hands continue their work, peeling cucumbers for a cucumber mango sauce. Alana, he notes, has been relatively silent since her arrival a few hours ago. Hannibal can smell her uneasiness and decides that he has had enough of the silence.

“What did you think of the exhibition?” He asks. It’s a boring generic question and he isn’t expecting a lengthy response, but it is a start.

“It was lovely,” Alana says with a sigh, “Though I’m still a little bitter about Will.”

“Will?” Hannibal feigns innocence, giving Alana his full attention.

“A friend of mine. He works as a lecturer at the academy. Lately Jack Crawford has been having him act as a consultant on cases,” Alana explains, “He was at the exhibition and I actually wanted to introduce him to you. You two would probably get along.” Hannibal muses at the comment. He is certain that they will get along, when they finally meet face to face.

“What prevented you from doing so?”

“Will did. He heard me call out to him, turned to me, and then booked it out of there.” Alana’s voice sounds irritated and Hannibal just nods to pacify her.

“Perhaps something came up.”

“Doubtful. No one else in the FBI had to run off,” Alana shook her head slightly as she spoke and let out a small sound of what Hannibal could only identify as concern before staring at Hannibal with worried eyes.

“Truth is I’m worried about him. Will is different and Jack is pushing him too hard.”

“What, may I ask, makes this friend of yours so different?” Hannibal expects her to say that it’s Will’s gender and has to keep back his surprise when she instead replies, “He has pure empathy.”

“Pure empathy?”

“Mhm. He can take on anyone’s point of view; it’s what makes him such a huge asset to Jack. But that empathy, that imagination, the price is fear. And I just know that these sights Will is being exposed to are not helping,” Alana says, sounding almost _identical_ to a worried mate. Hannibal almost finds it amusing. Almost.

“You fear for Will’s sanity. For his grasp of reality.”

“I fear for him in general,” Alana states, “He called me a few days ago to tell me about some nightmare he had. I couldn’t make any sense of it. And that worries me, Hannibal.”

“Alana, it is not your responsible to sort out Will’s problems. All you are required to do as a friend is to be there when he needs a shoulder to lean on.” Hannibal gives Alana a faint grin, just enough to comfort her and help wind her down.

“You’re right. But I feel obligated.” They fall silent again after that and Hannibal takes a breath and is met with the ghost of Will’s scent. He manages to resist from smirking as he thinks about how he can use Will’s empathy as a way to help Will truly know him.

* * *

Will walks into the clearing to see the victim lying in an antique clawfoot tub placed at the base of a large spruce tree. A long red tuft of silk is woven through the branches, causing the sun’s rays to fall up on the display with an eerie but beautiful crimson light. Will can smell her omega pheromones and is reminded of the dead omega that had led him to Hannibal. He swallows and moves to stand beside the tub.

“Her heart is gone,” Miriam states, “It’s another Ripper murder.”

“Too bad you shot an innocent man and made it so we don’t have any Ripper leads,” Zeller grumbles. Miriam smacks him with her left arm, the solidity of the prosthetic causing Zeller to flinch. He’s lucky she didn’t nail him in the face.

The tub is filled with a strange mixture of the victim’s blood and milk and no one is really sure what to make of that. Will squats, allowing himself to get closer to the victim, and frowns as he notices a deceased snake slithering out of the omega’s nightgown and wrapping around her shoulders. He sees that her unruly brown hair has been cropped short and her wide blue eyes are fixated on the serpent. There’s something about the display that feels personal to Will. He stands and takes a few steps back to observe the whole image, the portrait the Ripper has created.

He closes his eyes and allows himself to slip as far into the Ripper’s mindset as he dares. After a few moments his eyes widen and he falls to his knees gasping for breath. His heart is racing and he looks at the victim with panicked eyes. This _is_ personal, Will realizes; the Ripper is saying hello. Will feels as if he’s going to be sick and hurries to his car, ignoring the calls of concern and annoyance from Jack and the others.

“I know who you are, what you are,” Will says aloud, “And I want you for my own.”

* * *

He’s standing in the waiting room of Hannibal’s practice, shaking, terrified of the revelation he has just had. He isn’t even sure why he’s there. No, that’s a lie. He’s there because somehow, in some fucked up way, Hannibal has become a sense of stability for him. Will scoffs at that; he’s spoken to the man three times and already he counts him as a necessity. Will mentally curses Hannibal’s amazing scent (and good looks but he really doesn’t want to start thinking about that) for all of this.

He takes a seat, briefly wonders why Hannibal doesn’t have a receptionist, and then remains still. He listens carefully and can faintly make out Hannibal’s own voice as well as the patient he is currently helping. Will rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck twice before standing once more. He’s never been good at waiting. He picks up the sound of footsteps and knows that Hannibal is approaching the door with his patient.

The door opens and a female alpha emerges followed by Hannibal, who remains in the doorway. She thanks Hannibal again and Hannibal replies that he will see her in a week. She nods with a slight blush and Will feels a sudden, and bizarre, surge of jealousy. She doesn’t even spare Will a glance as she pushes by him and leaves. Will looks up to see Hannibal staring at him and god Will just wants to run. His maroon eyes are dark and intense and Will looks down, unable to keep eye contact. After another beat of silence Will let’s his gaze flicker up again and see that Hannibal has stepped aside so that Will may enter.

“Will,” he says and _Christ_ the way Hannibal practically _purrs_ his name has him fidgeting, “please come in.” Will takes a steadying breath before giving one quick nod and entering Hannibal’s office. As Hannibal closes the door Will feels suddenly trapped, like the prey that wandered willingly into the predator’s grasp. He wonders briefly what he’s gotten himself into before turning to face Hannibal once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read a lot of Hannibal stories that mention briefly that Hannibal is from Lithuania or stories that have Hannibal speaking Lithuanian (in some stories he speaks Danish because Mads is from Denmark); but apart from that I have never come across a story that really tries to tie in any aspects of his Lithuanian heritage (such as family, culture, lifestyle, history, folklore, etc.) So I decided that I wanted to try and incorporate some. 
> 
> Now I'm letting you all know right now that I'm not Lithuanian and I've never been to Lithuania. Anything in this story that is meant to be a sort of reference to Hannibal's Lithuanian background is the product of lots of research. If any of you reading this are, in fact, Lithuanian, feel free to correct me on any mistakes I may make. 
> 
> So here are some little references thus far:  
> In the last chapter I mentioned specific trees when describing Hannibal's scent (black alder, quaking aspen, and common ash). According to my research, they are trees commonly found in Lithuania. Also, the forest in Will's dream is meant to be a reference to the Dainava Forest (Dainavos giria) in Lithuania. And finally the murder victim at the end there is meant to be an homage to the story of Eglė the Queen of Serpents. It's an amazing fairy tale and one of my favorites. I suggest you all look it up because it's fantastic. 
> 
> That's all from me for now, thanks again for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes another breath and almost groans as he inhales Hannibal’s scent. In this proximity every breath he takes is full of Hannibal. Instinctively he lifts his head up, angling his nose toward the nape of Hannibal’s neck. He wants to breath Hannibal in until Hannibal fills all his senses, wants to rub against the alpha and scent him in return. Will gasps for air suddenly and Hannibal’s hands grip Will’s arms as concern spreads across the doctor’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a few messages asking if I had a tumblr. I do! You can find me on my [main blog](http://livx18.tumblr.com/) or on my [writing blog](http://livswrittenworks.tumblr.com/). So yeah. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Heads up, this chapter will contain some sexual content. It does have a hint of non-con to it, but only for a sentence or two.**
> 
>  
> 
> For some reason this was a _really_ challenging chapter for me to get through. As such it probably has a TON of errors grammatically and spelling wise. But it's done now so enjoy it!

Will does not sit. He paces the room, refusing to get too comfortable. He feels jumpy, as if he’s going to have to flee any moment now. Hannibal, realizing that Will is not going to allow himself the luxury of sitting in one of Hannibal’s fine leather chairs, leans against the edge of his desk simply observing Will as he moves.

“Should I start?” Will asks, breaking the silence and turning sharply to look at Hannibal. His gaze is focused on the alpha’s tie and Hannibal makes a mental note of Will’s lack of eye contact.

“If that is what you would prefer.”

“What would you prefer, Doctor Lecter?” Hannibal can make out a faint twain in Will’s voice, something thick and rich that just screams of a troubled childhood down in the south. _Louisiana_ , Hannibal thinks with a private smile. He doesn’t answer Will’s question and Will just sighs before running a hand through his messy hair.

“Let’s start with what brought you here,” Hannibal suggests. It’s not a command but Will hears the authority in Hannibal’s voice and nods meekly.

“A murder,” Will states, “But this one was different, it was personal.”

“Personal?” Hannibal baits. Will eyes him warily before continuing, “It was for me.”

Will believes the silence that follows is from Hannibal pausing to understand and take in what Will has said. He feels slightly guilty, unaware of how proud and pleased Hannibal is. Hannibal is more than thrilled by this turn of events. Will, he realizes, is far quicker and more intelligent than he could have ever hoped. For the sake of keeping up appearances, Hannibal plays along.

“What makes you so certain that this was a murder designed for you?” he asks.

“At first it felt like just another Ripper murder, but it became intimate, almost romantic, and far too personal.”

“Can you describe the portrait the Ripper painted to me?” Will hesitates before telling Hannibal about the crime scene. Hannibal listens carefully, finding it interesting to hear his work described, vividly he notes, by another. He feels a faint swell of pride and decides to reward Will for his fantastic observational skills.

“That sounds vaguely like a story I once heard as a child,” Hannibal says, his voice calm, “Eglė the Queen of Serpents.”

“What’s it about?” Will asks as he walks toward one of the two leather chairs. Hannibal watches Will all whilst explaining the basic premise of the old fairytale. He sees Will’s eyes widen and almost grins at the shock he sees.

“I don’t like this personal connection to the Ripper,” Will states, his voice shaking, “I need to find a way to sever it.”

“I am not as familiar with the Chesapeake Ripper as you are, Will, but I do not think this killer will let you go so easily.” Hannibal means it; now that he has found Will and has seen how fun and interesting he can be, he has no intention of letting Will slip away.

“I think it would be best if we change the subject, Doctor. We could talk about the other murders I’ve been looking at,” Will says. Hannibal can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s only half joking. He opens his mouth to ask if he’s allowed to hear about other cases, but Will cuts him off before he has the chance.

“I can smell Alana Bloom on you,” Will states as he leans against the ladder that leads to the second floor loft, “She’s probably told you about me, about what I do.”

Hannibal walks slowly toward Will, his gaze fixated solely on the omega as he approaches. Will feels cornered suddenly but remains still as Hannibal gets a little closer than socially acceptable. Hannibal inhales and Will freezes as the alpha flicks his gaze to the pulse point on Will’s neck, the area where the omega’s scent is strongest.

“Alana wished to introduce us at the art exhibition. Tell me, Will, did you know that I would be present?”

“No.”

“Did you know it was I you had fallen into?”

“Yes.”

“You fled.” The way Hannibal says it has Will almost feeling guilty. He swallows as Hannibal steps closer. Will can feel their bodies touching, feels the same burst of heat that he felt at the exhibit.

“Yes.” His voice is soft, weak, and he doesn’t like it.

“Did you flee because you were afraid of meeting me?” Will lets his gaze flicker up and he sees the almost saddened look on the alpha’s face. He gulps before taking a steadying breath.

“I fled because I was afraid of you meeting me.”

“Were you afraid that I would judge you, Will?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“I could hardly judge you without getting to know you first,” Hannibal says, “It would be rude. Besides, I find you interesting.”

“Because I’m a male omega?” Will asks, “Or is it my unusual way of thinking, which I’m sure Alana mentioned to you?”

“Your personality and mindset. You are a very complex individual, Will.” Will feels almost flattered. He takes another breath and almost groans as he inhales Hannibal’s scent. In this proximity every breath he takes is full of Hannibal. Instinctively he lifts his head up, angling his nose toward the nape of Hannibal’s neck. He wants to breath Hannibal in until Hannibal fills all his senses, wants to rub against the alpha and scent him in return. Will gasps for air suddenly and Hannibal’s hands grip Will’s arms as concern spreads across the doctor’s face.

“Will, are you all right?” Will manages to say that he needs air and Hannibal simply nods before moving and allowing Will some space.

* * *

Will can still smell Hannibal as he enters his home. He frowns wondering why the alpha’s scent was still so potent before realization dawns on him. He yanks the jacket that had been placed so carefully on his shoulders off with little finesse and stares at the thick dark grey garment with a tinge of guilt and anger. He knows he should have left the jacket with Hannibal, after all it is the alpha’s, but frankly he had forgotten he had it. All he remembers is the weight being placed on him, the sudden warmth, and the unbelievably close proximity of the doctor. He feels foolish for allowing himself to get too wrapped up in the moment, in his shock, and allowing Hannibal to drape the coat over him.

Without hesitation, or really thinking, Will brings the coat up and _inhales_. The garment carries Hannibal’s scent with such potency that Will is left breathless. He wonders momentarily what the hell is wrong with him before tossing the coat to the side. It lands on his mattress, but he doesn’t notice.

“Get it together Will,” he says to himself as he gets some dog food out and moves to feed his little pack. They lick wherever there is exposed skin happily, showing their gratitude. Will just chuckles before moving to lean against his kitchen counter.

* * *

The stag tilts its head at Will as Will approaches. It’s calm, relaxed, and Will wishes he felt the same. He notices the fishing line again and frowns as he spots the puppeteer in the distance once more. Will feels that familiar tug that pulls him toward the puppet master. He goes willingly, not wishing to anger the silhouette, and stops directly in front of him.

“Will, my dear sweet brilliant Will,” the puppeteer says, his voice gentle and melodic and familiar. He opens his arms out to Will and Will finds himself moving into the shadow’s embrace. He feels a warmth, something comfortable, flood through him and Will sighs as he lets his head fall against the silhouette’s shoulder.

“Did you get my present, Will?” Will shakes his head.

“My gift, dear Will. The girl and her serpent.” Will’s eyes widen as he turns his gaze toward the puppeteer’s shadowed face.

“She reminded me of you,” the shadow states and Will feels sick.

He wakes sweating, his breath ragged and his heart racing. Without a second thought he grabs his phone and hits redial. It rings four times before the person on the other end picks up, voice tired but polite.

“Will. How can I help you?” Hannibal doesn’t ask why the fuck Will is calling so early in the morning, doesn’t get upset, and Will can’t help but let out a choked out noise at that.

“She looked like me,” Will says, his voice just as rough as his breathing.

“Who looked like you?”

“The omega.”

“The one the Chesapeake Ripper killed?”

“Yes,” Will practically sobs in his frantic state, “She looked like me.”

* * *

Hannibal’s lips pull back into a Cheshire cat grin as he listens to Will fall apart on the other end of the line. His voice sounds broken and weak, and Hannibal catches a faint whimper. His alpha instincts are telling him that Will is an omega in peril and that he as an alpha ought to do something about that. He forces down the instincts and refocuses his attention to the matter at hand.

Dealing with Will requires the utmost care and concentration. If he’s too forceful he’ll scare the younger man away; however if he’s too laid back, Will won’t see him as interesting or as a potential mate and all his work will have been for naught. The word mate earns a chuckle out of the doctor.

Hannibal has never given much thought to mating. Most of the people he has encountered in his life have been more of a means to an end rather than people he actually likes (with a few exceptions). But Will is different. Will is interesting. Will is an omega and a pure empath and Hannibal knows that if pushed in the right direction, Will would also be a wonderful killer. He allows himself a small grin at that before standing up.

Will Graham, he decides, is meant to be his in any way he can have him.

“Will, easy now,” Hannibal’s voice is steady and solid, “Breath Will. It’s all going to be all right.”

* * *

Will can still faintly hear the doctor talking about Florence (Will had insisted that the alpha talk about whatever he wished) in the back of his mind, but manages to tune out everything else. His eyes feel heavy and he shuts the lids as he leans back against his mattress, letting his head rest on his pillow. Hannibal’s voice is soothing now, gentle and reassuring.

“Are you still there, Will?” Hannibal asks periodically. Will gives a faint noise of confirmation but then drifts off as Hannibal begins to speak again.

* * *

Will feels hands roaming over his body, feels an intense burning heat coursing through him. He moans wantonly and rocks back into the person behind him, thrusting into him.

“Shh, Will. Easy. I’ve got you,” the person says. Will groans, his head falling forward to rest against the mattress as the man behind him grips his hips tightly and rams in again. Will is spent but craving, aching, for more as the other man pounds into him working various volumes and pitches of pleasured noises out of the omega.

The air is heavy with the scent of sweat and sex intertwined with alpha and omega pheromones. Will is practically gagging on it, yet he’s never smelt anything quite as wonderful. He grips the sheets tightly as he rocks his ass back again, wanting to take the alpha in deeper. The alpha growls and Will fucking _mewls_ at the animalistic noise. His breaths are ragged and Will knows he’s going to be climaxing again soon. The alpha stops his movements suddenly and Will can’t help but let out a loud whine of protest.

“I want to see you, Will,” the alpha says as he gently maneuvers Will to lie on his back, “I want to see you as you fall apart beneath me.” He cants Will’s hips up and slings Will’s legs over his shoulders before sliding back in. Will groans once more as the alpha resumes his quick pace. He opens his eyes and suddenly feels trapped, lost and foolish.

“Shh, Will,” Hannibal says as he smirks down at the omega, a strange glint in his maroon eyes, “Shhh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams head against desk* I feel like I spent ages on this chapter and there isn't much there in terms of plot development or content. Ugh. So sorry for this stinker guys :( I swear the next chapter will be brilliant (or at least better than this shit).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will notices the alpha instantly. She’s tall and thin with dark tresses that flow past her shoulders and straight bangs that make her hazel eyes seem a shade darker. She has an air of power around her and Will can tell from one look at her face that she is a woman who is very accustomed to getting what she wants. She approaches slowly, her steps confident and strong. Will recognizes her scent briefly as the alpha he saw for a moment a few weeks prior and wonders what could have led her here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. I had a bit of writer's block this week. Anyways, thank you all so much for the positive feedback last chapter. I was so unsure of it but you all seemed to enjoy it so thank you!
> 
> Sorry in advance for how short this chapter is. I really just wanted this to be about introducing a new character and moving the story along a little. Anyways, enjoy. :)

Will wakes sweating, his heart pounding. He feels sullied and spent. He looks down at himself, examining his body for any sign that his dream had, in fact, been reality. He can still feel warm sturdy hands gripping his hips and hoisting them up, can still smell sweat and sex. He can taste Hannibal’s lips on his mouth and frowns as the realization that he had an intense sexual dream about the alpha sets in. He can’t deny that he finds Hannibal’s scent alluring and the man himself interesting. Though he refuses to accept that he could, possibly, be attracted to the alpha. He sighs and he sits up, stretching his arms out and rolling his shoulders.

He can feel the ghost of Hannibal’s tongue tracing along his ear, can sense Hannibal’s marking bites on his neck. Instinctively he reaches a hand up and feels the nape of his neck. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of a mark, but he is all the same. The dream, though unexpected, had felt so real. As Will gets out of bed, his legs, shaky, he can’t help but laugh. Leave it to him to dream about a man he hardly knew.

 _I want to see you, Will_ , Hannibal’s voice says hauntingly in Will’s head as he makes himself breakfast, _I want to see you fall apart beneath me_. Will lets out a moan of anguish as he feels his heart speed up again. This dream was going to be the end of him.

* * *

The scent of omega prickles her nose and makes her cringe slightly in bitterness as she looks up at Dr. Lecter. The movement does not go unnoticed by the man, but Hannibal steps aside nonetheless and invites the woman in. She gives a thankful nod to the other alpha and heads to her normal seat, noting with some distain that the entire office reeks of omega.

“So who is your omega friend?” She asks as she takes her coat off and places it gently over the arm of the chair before sitting.

“A new acquaintance,” Hannibal replies as he sits across from her, “He was here not too long ago dropping off something I had lent to him.”

“He?”

“Yes.” She frowns a little at that and Hannibal decides to use that as an opportunity to change subjects.

“Have you finished planning your trip to Paris, Vanessa?” It’s a mundane topic of conversation, but he hopes it will distract her from Will’s lingering scent.

“Is he the omega I saw last week?” Vanessa asks, clearly uninterested in giving Hannibal want he wants.

“Pardon?”

“The omega that was here last week: scruffy, curly hair. Eyes that look like a kicked puppy’s.”

“His name is Will Graham,” Hannibal says slowly, allowing an edge of finality to slip into his voice, “He is a friend and is not open for conversation.”

“You must really care for him, Doctor. I’ve never heard you get that defensive,” Vanessa replies looking as if she got exactly what she wanted. She rolls her shoulders and stares at Hannibal before leaning back in her seat. Hannibal can see her mind ticking away, scheming. Normally Hannibal finds this look quite intriguing—he knows exactly who Vanessa is and what she is capable of and he’s always admired her work—however, he finds himself loathing it as she smiles at him.

* * *

Will notices the alpha instantly. She’s tall and thin with dark tresses that flow past her shoulders and straight bangs that make her hazel eyes seem a shade darker. She has an air of power around her and Will can tell from one look at her face that she is a woman who is very accustomed to getting what she wants. She approaches slowly, her steps confident and strong. Will recognizes her scent briefly as the alpha he saw for a moment a few weeks prior and wonders what could have led her here.

“Mr. Graham?” she asks, her voice full of false sweetness.

“Maybe. Who’s asking?” He knows it sounds rude, but Will wants nothing to do with her. She smiles politely in return, though her eyes reflect how annoyed she is by the crassness.

“My name is Vanessa Ostrovoskafa. I was hoping I could speak with you,” She replies as she steps closer to Will’s desk. She looks down at the photos Will has sprawled across the top, a mix of victims from various killers. She appears unphased by them and Will wonders what that says about her personality.

“And what could you possibly have to talk to me about?” Will questions, “Unless, of course, you’re here to compare notes on Doctor Lecter.” That seems to make her pause and Will watches as she makes the connection that Will knew exactly who she was.

“Well since we are so familiar with one another, perhaps we should drop the formalities,” she says, her voice losing all of its feigned kindness, “I came to ask what your intentions toward Hannibal are.”

“My intentions?”

“Don’t play the part of the fool with me, Mr. Graham. I’m not one to be trifled with.”

“I don’t have any intentions,” Will replies, trying to keep his voice earnest. He really doesn’t know who exactly Hannibal Lecter is to him, nor does he know what he’d like to become. _That’s not entirely true_ , his mind supplies. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. _Now is not the time to think about **that** dream_ , he thinks.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” Will expects Vanessa to snarl or scoff or show some sign of her displeasure. Instead he watches as she smiles, nothing forced or fake, and looks at him with a strange form of fondness.

“I must say, Mr. Graham, I’m impressed. Not many people would show so much back bone when speaking to me. Especially not an omega. It’s _refreshing_.” She looks at Will like she’s found a new toy to play with and Will suddenly regrets ever talking to the woman.

“Well, Will, I must be going. Thank you for taking the time to indulge me.” With a short bow and another smile she turns and leaves. Will watches feeling slightly nervous and unhinged. He wonders if he should call Hannibal and speak to him but decides against it. He’s not sure he can deal with Hannibal at the moment. He shakes his head and turns to look at the photographs on his desk again.

* * *

“You seem quite pleased about something, Vanessa.”

“I suppose I’m just excited for you, Doctor. It’s easy to meet people but making friends is a rare feat.”

“I assume you are referring to Will Graham,” Hannibal says, “He told me he had the pleasure of meeting you recently.”

“He’s interesting.”

“He is unavailable.”

“Oh? I didn’t see a mark from any mate and he smelt so _fresh_ , so immaculate.” Hannibal opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Vanessa, “I’m sorry. You told me the last time I was here that Will Graham is not to be discussed.”

“Indeed. Though this hour is for you and we may discuss whatever you wish.”

“So long as I don’t wish to discuss Will Graham?” Hannibal decides to ignore the question and Vanessa sighs before cracking her neck and looking at the other alpha once more.

“I want to talk about omegas,” Vanessa says, her gaze intense and set on the man sitting across from her.

“Are you giving thought to finding an omega to mate with?” Hannibal asks, a boring generic question. Vanessa sees the bait but opts to take it nonetheless.

“Possibly. Though you know how I feel about omegas,” Vanessa replies in a tone that suggests she’s answered several questions exactly like that, “I’m curious as to whether you’ve ever given any thought to settling down with a nice little omega, Doctor.”

“I have not.”

“I think you have, but I understand not wishing to divulge personal thoughts and feelings to me.” There’s a moment of silence before Vanessa continues, “I’ve made an acquaintance who is an omega. He’s been helping a few others and myself with a project I’m working on.”

“It has been some time since you’ve created anything, Vanessa. Where is this sudden inspiration coming from?”

“Life. It has, finally, handed me lemons—so to speak.”

“It’s important to pull inspiration from the world around us and the events that happen within our lifetimes. I think this new project will truly help you.”

“What I have accomplished so far has already made me feel healthier and more alive than I have felt in some time now. I am certain that as I continue working, that feeling will only grow.”

“Have you figured out what your next piece shall be?”

“Not quite. Though I know now what my final piece, _my magnum opus_ , will be.”

“I am happy for you, Vanessa.”

“So am I, Hannibal. So am I.” Vanessa’s lips pull back into a smile, something brilliant and dark. Her eyes shine with a strange gleam and Hannibal wonders what she has in store. He has seen what her creativity, her brilliant mind, can do. Though, for the first time since he’s met the other alpha, he’s worried about what her plan will lead to and whether it will interfere with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for how short that was.  
> Props to anyone who can guess where Vanessa's last name comes from :)


End file.
